


It Comes at Night

by stickysugar



Category: Justified
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickysugar/pseuds/stickysugar
Summary: Raylan gets a visitor. Maybe. (Takes place after series).





	It Comes at Night

A sense of foreboding was not the most comforting feeling to wake with, but Raylan tried to brush it off. It might bother him the whole day if he lingered on it, and he didn’t need the distraction. He hazily groped the surface of the nightstand for his phone. Time to get up. If he really hustled, he might even have time for a decent shower before work.

He pulled the phone to his face. It read, 3:17 AM. A good couple hours and change before Raylan’s usual wake up time. It occurred to him that his alarm had never gone off. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. If the alarm hadn't woken him, what had?

Raylan looked to his bedroom window. There wasn't much to see. It was dark, but he could still appreciate the unparalleled view of his neighbor's siding and the bushes between the two properties. The eerie feeling of doom and gloom was starting to creep back to the forefront of his mind, and if he strained his hearing, he could almost hear scuttling, like a raccoon digging through his garbage. Raylan kept listening. The noise didn’t seem to be coming from outside.

Feeling a little more awake now, Raylan slunk out of bed and to the hallway outside his bedroom, surveying his dim surroundings. The light was on in the kitchen, and something, someone, was casting a shadow on the wall of the hallway ahead. Quietly, Raylan returned to his room, fetched his gun, and stepped back into the corridor. 

The air in the house seemed cooler now as Raylan watched the shadow, taking each step closer as quietly as possible. The shadow was just barely moving, quivering with each breath the intruder took. If Raylan could just get the jump on them...

He whirled into the kitchen, gun drawn, but any threatening words died in his throat as his grip on the weapon loosened. "Boyd?" 

Boyd Crowder sat at the kitchen table, hands raised in a show of mock surrender. Once Raylan took in the fact that the man he had never expected to see again was sitting in front of him, he allowed himself to take in the other fact that there was blood everywhere; the floor, the table, the chair, Boyd's shirt, his hands, his face. 

Raylan rose his gun once more, even though he was starting to feel it wouldn't be necessary. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Hello to you too, Raylan." Boyd lowered his hands and wrapped one arm around his torso, where his shirt was dyed an especially disconcerting hue of crimson. "I don't suppose you've got a first aid kit tucked away somewhere?" 

You need a lot more than a first aid kit, Raylan thought. "Answer the question."

Boyd sank in his seat, looking like he might lose consciousness any second. "I thought... Since you visited me last time... I'd come to you, this time." He smiled. "Save you the drive." 

"You're not bein' funny," Raylan replied, growing more furious by the second. If Boyd had escaped, why hadn't Raylan been notified? If Boyd had a grudge against anyone, it'd be him, no matter how much damn coal they dug together. What if Willa had been in the house? Raylan gave a silent prayer of thanks that she was at Winona's this week. He started running the numbers. Driving, the trip from Kentucky to Florida took half a day. Boyd looked like he had been shot a lot more recently than that, although Raylan supposed it wasn't just members of law enforcement that could stand a world absent Boyd Crowder.

"How about some aspirin?" Boyd piped up, his smile strained. 

Raylan lowered the gun a bit, his attention back to the matter at hand. "You'd just bleed out quicker."

Boyd shook his head. "At this point, Raylan..." He trailed off, holding onto the edge of the table. "You'd think I'd be used to this by now," he continued, a few moments later, eyes closed.

"I wouldn't." Raylan took a wary step closer, careful not to step in any of the blood on the floor. "What the hell happened to you?"

Boyd opened his eyes, taking a moment for his vision to focus. "D’ya really need me to spell it out?” He held the other’s man gaze for mere seconds before slumping forward, dangerously close to falling off the chair altogether.

"You're not dying in my goddamn house," Raylan murmured, crossing over to Boyd and grabbing hold of him. The felon groaned in pain as Raylan wrenched him up from the chair, helping him into a reclined position on the table. That's two pieces of furniture ruined now, Raylan thought. 

"Your bedside manner leaves a hell of a lot to be desired," Boyd managed, grimacing. 

Raylan snorted. "Shut up." 

Boyd's breathing had quickened. "You gonna finish me off?"

Raylan let out an exasperated breath, surveying the situation before him. What was he doing? The right thing to do was try and save Boyd, regardless of what his intentions may have been in coming. But looking at Boyd, Raylan wasn't sure there was much left to save. 

Phone, Raylan thought. He should have called local police and EMT's as soon as he laid eyes on Boyd, but Raylan felt he could forgive himself for taking some time to do so, given the circumstances. He made to leave the kitchen, hesitating only when he heard Boyd speak.

"Why're you always tryin' to leave me, Raylan?" His words were slurring together, and Raylan took a moment to make sure he heard the other man right. Reluctantly, he turned back to face him. Boyd had pulled himself into an upright position on the table, his wound leaking heavily from the strain. 

Raylan wanted to tell Boyd to lie back down. "I'm not."

Carefully, as if made of porcelain, Boyd slid off the table, standing. His legs wobbled, looking like they might snap beneath him.

"Boyd..." 

The other man looked undead, his torso swathed in shades of red; caking into the creases of his clothes. He took an unsteady step, and then another. Raylan echoed the movement, his back hitting the wall of the hallway. The gun, Raylan thought, flexing his empty fingers. Where was the gun?

Boyd was close enough to touch, now. Raylan couldn't help but think he didn't want Boyd's blood anywhere near him. Too late for that now. Boyd's lips were moving, but there was no sound; or maybe there was and Raylan couldn't hear them over the pounding of his own blood rushing through his veins. 

~

Raylan woke with a start, choking on nothing. He sat up, mopping sweat from his brow, and tried to remember what the hell he had been dreaming about, and why it would’ve shook him up. Not that it mattered-- no point dwelling on fantasy. A glance at his phone told Raylan it was 3:17 AM, which gave him a couple more hours to sleep. He laid back, waiting for his heart to quit pounding, until he heard a noise not unlike a small animal roving about the house.

**Author's Note:**

> I will probably never stop writing ficlets about these two but oh well.  
> Hopefully it was fun to read.


End file.
